


Without You

by Mad_Birdy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Don't @ Me, M/M, but for the purposes of this fic this is the relationship they have, if I ever write a follow up fic then I'll address it, in that Sam is relying on Castiel too much, it was based around a specific song for a challenge so, this is a slightly unhealthy kind of relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Birdy/pseuds/Mad_Birdy
Summary: Sam Winchester has been a model since he graduated high school, but it hasn't been the fancy, rich life everyone always thinks modelling is. He's had his share of trauma, and his rock through out it all? Castiel Novak, his modelling agent, artist, and lover.





	Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a song fic challenge in 2017, "Without You" by Lana Del Rey

The real estate agent hands the buyer the keys to the large, old house behind them. “There you are, Mr. Winchester. The place is all yours. A pleasure doing business with you.”

Sam smiles, jingling the keys in his hand, waiting for the agent to leave. When he doesn’t move, however, the tall man clears his throat. “Is there, uh, something wrong?” 

“Oh, no no no!” The real estate agent hurriedly opens one of the folders he’s carrying and holds it out to Sam. “I was just wondering if you could sign this picture for my girlfriend. She adores you.” He avoids eye contact, cheeks flushing slightly, and Sam knows there is no girlfriend involved.

A smile spreads across Sam’s face, a little tight if one is paying attention, but the agent clearly isn’t as he shoves the picture and a pen into his hands. Sam looks at the picture and huffs a little, amused, before signing it. It’s one of his earliest shoots, probably ‘03 or ‘04, with his skinny, gangly body and floppy teen heartthrob hair. He hands the picture and pen back to the real estate agent with another small smile.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Winchester!” He darts back to his car and gets in, driving away quickly. Sam’s sighs softly and immediately relaxes, slouching as he sits on the low stone wall that fronts the property and pulls out his phone. He hits speed dial and holds the phone to his ear, taking in the peaceful wooded countryside as it rings.

He paid a small fortune for this place, but he doesn’t regret it. It’s not like he doesn’t make a small fortune for every photo shoot and advertising gig he does now. “Hello, Sam,” says the voice on the other end of the phone, and an easy smile comes to his face as he refocuses.

“Cas, hey,” he says, looking down at the keys in his hand as he speaks. “I’m at the new house. You headed out yet?”

“Soon. I’m just heading over to the apartment to pick up Ellen and your suitcases, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Good, good.”

“Oh, and Jo’s coming too. She wants to take photos of us while we’re getting stuff set up. Says she thinks you’ll want happy candid photos someday.”

Sam laughs softly, a genuine smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “She’s usually right.” He laughs again when he hears her shout in the background “Hell yeah I am!”

Cas’ low chuckles comes through the line as well, and the Winchester can’t help the swell of love that fills his heart. “We’ll be on our way soon, Sam. Open the windows and doors while you wait, okay? That way it’s not all stuffy and musty when we get there.”

“You got it, babe. See you soon.” He hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Then he walks up the stone pathway to the front door and finds the key labelled “front”, fitting it inside and turning to open. As he walks in, he’s struck again with the beauty of the house, the simple wood architecture and the wide open spaces. He moves room to room, opening windows and hoping the new house will bring the healing he’s been so desperately seeking.

~~~

People have always told Sam Winchester that he was born beautiful. That he was one of those rare children who were born cute and only got better as they grew older. When he’s posing for a camera, he believes them. It’s as if he enters his own small world, one he can shape and control to a greater degree than the real world. Sure, the photographer usually has some say as well, but Sam’s been in the business so long that usually the makeup and wardrobe crew do their jobs and then they just let him take control. It’s almost like he’s his own god when he does shoots, fully in control if only for the length of time it takes them to get the photos and coverage they want.

It’s harder for him to believe it when he’s up close and personal with those who admire and objectify him. Which is why, when he’s forced to go to parties and socialize with the gentry, he tries to surround himself with people who will tell him he’s gorgeous. Usually that’s young women, and sometimes young men, the children of politicians and old money. They dote on him, practically fighting each other for the honor of getting him a drink.

Sometimes though, like tonight, it’s suffocating, all the attention. He’s had one too many free drinks, and he feels fragile, like porcelain. Their fascination reminds him of children gazing at a beautiful china doll, and it makes him want to vomit. Barely even able to articulate the words to excuse himself, he stumbles off to the men’s restroom. It’s empty and he spares a grateful prayer to whatever deity is watching out for him as he locks himself into the furthest stall and sinks to his knees.

The bathroom echoes with his retches. When his body feels wrung like a rag and his stomach has emptied itself, he leans against the cool tile wall. A loud squeak announces another presence in the bathroom and then, “Sam?” He breathes a sigh of relief at the familiar voice of Cas.

“Back here,” he says quietly, reaching up with some effort to unlock the stall door. Cas quickly steps in, pausing to speak to the security guards with him.

“No one comes in here, understand? Tell them to use the other restroom.” Then he shuts and locks the stall door, coming over to Sam and kneeling beside him. “Sam. Are you okay?” The guards’ footsteps echo away and outside, the door shutting solidly behind them.

“Yeah.” Cas gives him a look and Sam huffs. “Alright, not really. I had another attack. I threw up.” The last sentence is tinged with shame, and the other man reaches over to smooth sweaty hair back from his forehead.

“It’s alright, Sam.” His tone is low and soothing, and Sam’s shoulders lose their tension at the sound. “We can go home, it’s late enough into the night now. Let’s get you up.” Draping one of Sam’s arms over his shoulder, he helps the taller man stand and move out of the stall to the sink. The model leans into the counter for support, Cas moving to stand behind him, pressing to his back as reassurance and safety.

Sam rinses his mouth out and splashes cool water on his face, his lover-slash-agent gently pulling his hair back to keep it out of the way. When he’s cleaned up, he turns and sits on the counter, leaning forward until his forehead rests against Cas’ shoulder. “They all think I’m perfect, don’t they.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Cas raises his eyebrows.

“Who thinks you’re perfect?” he asks, moving his hands to rest on top of Sam’s on the counter.

“All the people out there. They think I’ve got it all, right, ‘cause I’m a successful model.”

Cas shrugs, just the one shoulder Sam’s not leaning on. “Probably.”

“They’re only mostly right.” Sam turns his head so that his lips are pressed against Cas’ cheek. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, Sam.” Cas looks at him, and all Sam’s mind can think is  _ I’m nothing without you, Cas, _ but he doesn’t say it because this blue-eyed angel-on-earth doesn’t deserve someone broken like him, not full-time anyway. And then Cas is helping him off the counter and they leave the party, heading for the new safety of the house in the wooded countryside.

~~~

Summer comes quickly that year, and Sam’s spirits lift with the rising temperatures. Most days all the windows stay open, letting through the light breeze and the warm sunlight. Cas stays the night more often than not, though Sam still hasn’t found the courage to ask him to move in for good yet. It’s not like it’s not uncommon now for celebrities to share their sexuality, even when it may be “scandalous” or “controversial”. But when they’d begun showing interest in dating, they’d both been warned by their agent that most advertising companies wouldn’t hire someone who was in a long-term homosexual relationship. Flings were fine, they were told, as long as they stayed flings and stayed out of the public eye.

At the time, he hadn’t cared, because he’d thought he was straight as an arrow. He’d even had a girlfriend, Jess, for almost five years. They worked together so much that they’d made a name for themselves in the industry. She quit modeling after a fire at their apartment left her with disfiguring scars, and the agency’s insurance gave her enough money to move to South America and do charity work the rest of her life. Sam gets postcards from her every once in a while, which he keeps in a shoebox in his closet.

Now, there would be complications if he wanted to go public with a relationship with Cas. He’d most likely get dropped by his agency, as would Cas, and it was doubtful he'd be picked up by anyone else. His career would be over, and yet… 

There’s a series of dreams he has, over and over, on the nights when Cas shares his bed. They’re not whole, cohesive dreams, just snippets of memories that his mind alters while he sleeps. One: the first time Lucifer made a move on him, only this time Cas, or sometimes Dean, interrupts the encounter before the older man can even touch him. Another: the night he attempted suicide, but instead of nearly bleeding out in a pristine porcelain tub, dream-Cas finds him before he can pry the blade from the razor head and talks him down. And so on. The one that haunts him most, though, shows himself and his dark-haired lover walking hand in hand down a leaf-covered path, two young children that are clearly theirs running ahead of them through the autumn woods.

“Cas?” He speaks softly into the silence, unsure of whether or not the other man is asleep beside him still. Tonight’s dream had been a nightmare instead and he’s still breathless and shaking.

“I’m here, Sam,” comes the equally soft, though deeper, voice. “What did you dream tonight?”

Sam rolls onto his side to find Cas’ eyes open and focused on him, looking both as bright as a star and as deep as a black hole in the light of the moon. “Lucifer. That no one ever found out, so I… never escaped.”

A soft sigh leaves the other man’s lips before he gently takes Sam’s hands and moves them into the moonlight. His scars glow silver, almost unearthly, and he shivers a little when Cas begins to trace the jagged lines on his wrists. “As much as I hate that you thought so little of yourself that you hurt yourself in such a way… I am grateful for these scars. Do you know why?” Sam shakes his head, tears blocking his throat. “These scars are reminders of your strength, not of your weakness. You knew what was happening was wrong, and you knew that something had to change. It’s true that your first choice… wasn’t exactly the best idea. But it happened, and because you chose that, you found help. The counselor at the hospital was willing to listen to you, and you realized that there would be others. You knew you needed help, so you started getting it. Your strength got you to where you are today, Sam, and I'm glad it did.”

He has no words, only tears that threaten to spill if he blinks, so he closes his eyes and buries his face in the pillow. Cas pulls him close -- not completely unexpected but oh so welcome -- and Sam clings to him. He remembers his fear in the hospital, that the agency would drop him if they learned about his depression and suicide attempt. He’d thought his life was done anyways, so what did it matter what he told the counselor? But the higher ups at the agency had been appalled at the story the counselor told about Lucifer’s conduct with younger models, so Sam had been given as long as he needed to recuperate while the agent was fired and defamed.

Cas tucks him close to his chest, one of his hands playing idly in his long brown hair while the other is planted firmly on his lower back. Sam never feels so safe as he does when he holds him like this, and he allows the fingers in his hair to soothe him back to sleep. Again, those four words hang on his lips like weights,  _ I’m nothing without you _ mouthed silently on the bare skin of Cas’ throat before he slips off again.

~~~

Another photo shoot for a magazine, another set of questions. “And how did you meet Castiel Novak, your agent?” The interviewer’s question seems innocent enough, but Sam is thrust into memory at the question.

> They’d been friends from the moment they first met. The gangly freshman who’d yet to hit his growth spurt and the surprisingly mature junior, paired up for a project in an elective high school art class. Castiel was the far more talented one, in Sam’s opinion. His art always seemed so alive, even when it was just black lines on white paper (not mention what he could achieve with just a few colors), whereas Sam felt that his own art ended up being very stiff (the teacher would say “good method, but try making it  _ your own _ ”, whatever the hell that meant).
> 
> Cas was always drawing him. His eyes, his profile, his hands, his hair, his slouch… you name it, the blue-eyed boy had drawn it. He had a whole portfolio by the end of the year just labeled “Sam Winchester in Parts”; it won first place in the school art show. And it was that portfolio that had first drawn Lucifer to the two of them, taking them on as their agent and getting them both into modeling.

“We got picked up by the same agency,” is all the answer he gives, and slowly the conversation moves on.

“I heard you were quite the party-er when you were younger.” The woman smirks, giving a playful wink.

> Loud music, dim lights, a variety of pleasurable drinks and substances, and on the edges of the room, plenty of soft places to crash for a few moments. This was the kind of club Lucifer ran, mostly in secret of course, and only for the young models he represented.
> 
> For the first few months, Sam and Cas allowed themselves to enjoy it. No strings attached fun, and getting to pose half-naked to make money? Seemed like the dream life. That was until Lucifer started trying to turn the two friends against each other. That was until he started demanding things of Sam, things the boy never wanted to give in the first place, things he was eventually manipulated into providing.
> 
> It took him a year and a razor blade to break free and find a friend again in the boy with the blue eyes.

“Why do you say it like it’s past tense?” he jokes, a smile crinkling his eyes. “I’m still a party-er.”

Later that night, he sits on the window seat, a book propped open in his lap and forgotten as he stares at the woods. Cas comes and sits on the other side of the seat, taking the book (careful not to smudge it with the charcoal still on his fingers from drawing) and closing it. “Do you ever wonder what our life would be like if Lucifer had never seen your art?” Sam asks quietly, still gazing at the trees.

“No.” The steadiness and certainty in Cas’ voice makes Sam look at him finally.

“Why?”

“Because, despite the pain we both experienced along the way, we ended up together. Who knows if that would have happened had we just remained regular students.”

Sam’s speechless, again (he tries not to think about how much that happens to him around Cas), and his lover gently takes his left hand in his.

“You know…” Cas fumbles with something in his pocket. “I always thought you’d have ended up here anyways. Famous and prospering, didn’t matter whether or not I was in the picture.”

“Cas…”

“Let me finish.” The something in his pocket is now in his hand, and Sam’s eyes strain to ascertain what it is. “I only recently realized that there are things you don’t  _ say _ but  _ do _ .” Sam raises an eyebrow in confusion and Cas smiles. “You never say your feelings out loud. You keep them locked away inside, but there are so many small things that give you away, Sam. Your actions speak for themselves. And God help me if I’m wrong, but…” Finally, the something is revealed: a simple metal band, shining silver in his charcoal-dusted palm. “I love you, Sam. And I’m pretty sure you love me too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, not just as your agent, but as your husband, if you’ll have me.”

And fuck it, he’s never been brave enough to fully admit his feelings to Cas, not like this, but the ring is there and his heart is warm and so he says it, those words that were on the edge of his lips so many times since Cas found him in that bathroom months ago. “I’m nothing without you, Cas-” but he's interrupted.

“You're everything without me, Sam. Remember what I said the other night? Your strength brought you here, not my presence.”

Sam huffs, but the stubborn look on the other man's face tells him arguing will get him nowhere. And somewhere, deep down, a small part of himself is willing to believe it's true. So he smiles and nods, “You're right, Cas. I love you too. I will have you as long as you wish.”

The ring is slipped onto his finger, a perfect fit, and then Cas is kissing him. Nearly a year later they’re married, and the agency is far more accepting than he’d ever dreamed they would be (apparently they’d changed policy to “keep up with the times”). He does less of the typical “boyfriend gives girlfriend expensive jewelry” commercials and more of the “husbands take their children out for walks in Old Navy’s new fall fashion line” ads. Cas spends more time pursuing his art and soon the old house in the woods is filled with sketches and pastel oil paintings, followed closely by the laughter of children.

Sam is happier than he could have wished for, and those four words only grow in meaning with every day that passes in the love of Castiel.


End file.
